ⓘ This episode is part of a series. If you missed the previous episode, read it here.
The compound was alive in the way only shared compounds could be. A radio played an old rumba song somewhere behind the row of houses. Two women stood over plastic basins, talking between bursts of laughter as they scrubbed clothes. A young man crouched beside a motorcycle, coaxing it back to life with a spanner and stubborn optimism. Children chased a punctured football through the narrow passage, scattering chickens as they ran.
